


Many Roads, Many Ways

by Talullah



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 10:37:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20375380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: Gimli gets to meet his uncle for the first time right before a great adventure starts.





	Many Roads, Many Ways

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Alex Cat for the beta!
> 
> Written for the 2019 Tolkien Reverse Summer Bang, inspired by @blootwoosch's [art](https://imgur.com/a/2g6K0AB) and as a gift for them.

**The Blue Mountains, TA 2940**

> [art by @blootwoosch.tumblr.com](//imgur.com/a/2g6K0AB)

Gimli observed the low sky. Ahead of him, everything was coloured in dull browns and dark greys. A smell of smoke permeated the cold air, coming from the camp. He needed to return soon, while there was still daylight, but the view, even now that the dark greens of summer and bright reds of autumn had passed, mesmerized him. For all the stories of the past his father told him, and of the promised wonders of their lost homes, Gimli loved this land, too, his birth place. He wished he had the strength and ability to rid Arda of the evil, the filth of the orcs. They seemed to reproduce like the two fat rabbits hanging from his hip, waiting to be skinned. And nobody seemed to know how. No one had ever seen or caught a pregnant female.

Gimli shook his head and searched his pocket for his last slice of dried meat. This hunting ground was safe enough to take a pause, and now, with the first snow threatening to fall from the sky this very night, even the orcs seemed to be scarce. For all the comforts Thorin’s Halls had to offer, he enjoyed being out. He dreamt of travelling the world. And of war, to win back lost kingdoms, to clean the land. But for now, everyone seemed to be happy to stay buried in their holes. The Dwarves separated, whole kingdoms lost; the Elves, for all their treachery, seemed, too, to have lost their kingdoms and their armies of legend; the Men, those who lived in the south, were happy with their lives. A few roamed the north in small bands, like thieves. From Men one could not expect great deeds.

Kidzum whistled from afar. Not a danger sign but Gimli understood that his time for meditation had finished. He moved swiftly down the slope, as silently and inconspicuously as he could. He could still smell the smoke but could not see it anymore. Quickly, he found the bend in the path that led to the campsite, hidden behind two gigantic boulders. Kidzum was laying flat on the ground, peering through a gap between the boulders. Gimli knelt beside her.

“What?” he silently mouthed.

She pointed with her chin to her left. Following her eyes, Gimli saw movement in the far distance. The small group was barely noticeable. He laid flat on the ground beside Kidzum. There were plenty of sentinels along the main entries to Thorin’s Halls and it was not necessary to run back home to shout out an alarm. Yet, it was ingrained in them to be watchful and suspicious of unexpected travelling parties.

For a while, they watched the group getting closer. Dwarves. Gimli and Kidzum relaxed, but remained watching. After a while, dusk fell, but they could see them still moving in the near darkness. They knew the terrain well and were obviously heading for the western gate.

After the group disappeared behind the mountain, Gimli and Kidzum rose slowly, their movements regaining life after the long permanence on the cold ground.

“Any idea on who they are?” Kidzum asked.

Gimli shook his head. “My father did not mention any party to be expected...”

Kidzum shrugged her shoulders and started working on a fire. Gimli, despite being a dwarf and at that, Glóin’s son, had never mastered the art. His attempts ranged from comical to pitiful, and he was the laughing stock of his friends for that. He didn’t mind the teasing so much, but it did annoy him, sometimes, to be incompetent at this one thing, when in most everything else, he ranged from apt to excellent. And he did like excellence.

The other thing he could not excel in, or even begin at all, was courting Kidzum. They were the same age, and, having grown up together, she only ever saw him as a friend. They often worked at the forge together, they always hunted together, and they talked about their dreams of travelling, and of living in a better world. Gimli could trust her with his life and he knew she deposited the same trust in him. But the only time he had dared to try to hold her hand, she had calmly and cooly taken his hand in both of her hands, fondly squeezed them, and them let his hand slide away.

For a long time after that, he had felt embarrassment, regret, confusion, and a stupid hope that he had misread the calm gaze of her steel-grey eyes. But he had not. In a way, he hoped that she fell in love with someone else. Perhaps Torvin. He would make a good husband for Kidzum, and Gimli could then finally forget the whole thing. Or he could, finally, go away on an adventure, and return covered in riches and glory, completely over her. Or she could finally see him as a husband.

All these thoughts were nothing knew, and Gimli performed his tasks in setting up the camp for the night mechanically, while these and other dreams unfolded in convoluted patterns in his mind. They ate in silence, then Gimli put out the fire and cleaned the camp, while Kidzum prepared for the first turn in watching. Despite their proximity to the Halls of Thorin, they still made a point of keeping good safety practices.

Around three am, Kidzum woke Gimli for his turn to watch. The sky had cleared and the full moon bathed everything in cold, cruel light. Gimli sat there, trying to keep warm and awake, and his thoughts returned to the mysterious group of travelling dwarves. In any case, in the morning it would be their last day out and soon they would discover who the travellers were.

~~

Gimli and Kidzum were happy and tired. Their third and last day out had been their luckiest. They had come upon a stag, a beautiful beast, still fat from a Summer spent grazing on the valley. It was a wonderful gift to bring back home, to be served at Thorin’s table. It was also quite heavy and it took them plenty of energy to pull the improvised frame they had made for the game they caught across the mountain, to the western gates.

As they approached the gates, Torvin and Orvin, their childhood friends, ran out, ready to help with their load in the last stretch.

“Did you see the incoming party yesterday?” Orvin asked excitedly.

“We saw a few figures from afar,” Kidzum replied.

“A small group,” Gimli added.

“It’s your uncle, Gimli!” Orvin exclaimed, patting his back.

“My uncle Óin?”

“Do you have any other uncle?” Torvin replied with a touch of his dry humour.

Gimli affectionately punched his arm. “I didn’t know he was coming. How is he?”

“Very much like your father, except greyer,” Torvin said.

“And he’s hurt,” Orvin chimed in.

Torvin stuck his elbow on his brother’s side, but the words had already been let out.

“Hurt?” Gimli asked.

“Yes, a flesh wound on his right arm, from an Orc arrow. They had a run in up North. But my father says it was properly cleaned and it’s not poisoned.”

Torvin rolled his eyes. “Orvin, you speak too much. Gimli hasn’t even met his uncle-”

Gimli, knowing that there would be a shower of complaints, followed by furious replies, followed by more complaints, promptly interrupted what promised to be a long bickering session. “Lads, the door.”

They had arrived at the western gate and Torvin promptly dropped the rabbits he was carrying and knocked with the secret signal all of Thorin’s subjects knew.

As they progressed inside Thorin’s halls, toward the kitchens, the conversation slowly rekindled.

“Do you know why your uncle was abroad for so many years?” Orvin asked.

“You’re such a gossip,” Torvin reprimanded, but then, in typical fashion, added, “I bet he was spying for the king.”

Kidzum snorted and Gimli sighed. The four of them had been born in the same year. It was rare to have such a display of fertility amongst dwarves and they had become the pride and joy of the entirety of Thorin’s Halls. Everyone had a treat or a story for them as they grew up and as soon as they started walking, they were always together. But Torvin and Orvin, who would give their lives for the other in a blink, were always quarreling.

They arrived at the kitchens and dropped the game to the cook’s care.

“You did well,” Dornin said, appraising their catch. “And this beauty,” he said, patting the deer’s hind, “came right on time for tomorrow’s feast. “But for now, sit down, you have to eat.”

Dornin set steaming bowls of stew in front of each of them, and toasted and buttered several slices of bread. He had pampered them all as they grew up and now that they all had grown their beards, Dornin still saw them as children who needed to be fed and pampered. Gimli barely ate, contemplating the strange arrival of his uncle. According to his father, years before he was born Thorin had sent Óin to other dwarven realms as an emissary. Eventually, he became an ambassador, of sorts. However, he had never returned to the Blue Mountains. Gimli carefully wiped his beard and excused himself, leaving his friends to banter and gossip.

He headed for his family’s apartment within the halls. He had been told that everything, from the spaces for each family, to the halls, to the forges, and even the kitchens, had been built and decorated tn the good fashion of Erebor, only at a smaller scale. As he walked through the corridors, he looked around himself, gazing at the skillful work, wondering about all these other worlds within the heart of distant mountains which were also his home, as every dwarf of the seven tribes is always a brother.

He placed his hand on the lock to his family’s home and moved the fingers in the particular combination that was theirs alone. The heavy door opened without a sound, gracefully gliding back as if it was made of paper. From the vestibule, he could see warm, yellow light flowing from the common room, and a delicious smell of apple pie permeated the air. Despite having a common kitchen and a team of cooks and aids who were responsible for common meals and the management of food within the Halls, each family could occasionally cook for themselves. In Gimli’s home, it was a rare event. His father made a good stew, but only when they were out hunting or on a trade expedition. His mother made an apple pie once a year, on his birthday, with rich cinnamon she bought from the Southerners who now and then ventured North in search of trading opportunities.

Today was not his birthday. Gimli walked slowly across the room, looking around for signs of his family. He heard voices from his parent’s bedroom and headed there.

“Gimli!” his father exclaimed, as he walked in. “Come meet your uncle Óin!”

Óin was sitting on the bed and his mother was by his side, washing his wound.

“Ah lad!” Óin exclaimed, trying to rise. Gimli’s mother placed a hand on his shoulder and firmly held him down.

“Óin, you’re worse than a child, this is the third time I have to stop you from moving,” she said impatiently.

Gardis was a strong, beautiful woman, but was not known for patience. Without glancing at Gimli, she continued caring for Óin’s wound as she asked. “How was the hunt, dear?”

Gimli bowed to his uncle and answered, “Fine,” in the same movement.

“Come sit by my side, lad,” Óin said, patting the mattress.

Gimli obeyed, receiving a warm if heavy slap on his back as a reward.

“I have been dying to meet you for all these years. Trusting your father’s letters, you’re Durin returned to life!”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. His father was often demanding and had a stern nature. Praise was something he did not handed freely and Gimli could not imagine him gushing compliments about him to anyone.

“Don’t look so surprised, lad,” Óin continued. “My little brother is a bit gruff but he takes great pride in his family. Always has,” he added with a wink to Glóin.

“Enough talk, now,” Glóin reprimanded. “You need rest. Lie down and you will get to know Gimli better when you’ve recovered more.”

“Nonsense. You two go take a romantic walk and I’ll be just fine with my nephew here,” Óin said, shooing Gardis and Glóin with his good arm.

As soon as both had left the room, Óin rose to his feet and started pacing. “It’s a filthy habit to smoke inside, but I would give an arm for a nice full pipe,” he said to Gimli, winking.

Gimli smiled and reached inside his pocket. “It is a filthy habit indeed, but aren’t we lucky that these Halls were built with double ventilation?” He handed his pipe and weed bag to his uncle and moved over to the fireplace, to open the extra ventilation tube above it, which immediately created an updraft.

“May Aulë bless you with everything your heart desires, precious lad! I already love you!” Óin said, laughing. Gimli laughed, too, and sat by his uncle’s side, watching him fill the pipe with careful, experienced moves.

“Your mother hid mine, you see. She says I’m convalescing. Bloody hell, imagine if it were a real wound – she would tie me to the bed,” Óin said softly, as he lit the pipe.

“Here, have a drag,” he said, offering it to his nephew.

Gimli thanked him and smoked. He wanted to ask questions but, despite his uncle’s warm manner, something still held him back.

“You know, now seeing you, all grown with that auburn beard, I am reminded of your grandfather. Although your face has more of your mother than of Glóin. She always was fair.”

Gimli had heard the comparison often before, from others, but he felt there was a tone of wistfulness in his uncle’s voice.

“Why did you stay away for so long?” Gimli asked.

Óin looked at the fire and smiled, with a touch of sadness. “I wish I had been here when you were little, to throw you up in the air and let you ride on my back. Alas, lad. Life has its twists and turns.”

“You’re here now,” Gimli said. “Are you staying?”

“No, lad. My mission for our cousin and king is finally completed. Now it’s time to start on another path,” Óin said as he reclined on the bed and put his feet up.

“You sound tired.”

Óin nodded. “I am.”

“I’ll leave you to rest, then,” Gimli said, rising up to close the ventilation, which was now cooling the room in excess. “Will you stay long enough for us to talk again?”

Óin chortled. “You better be sure of that. Your mother would never let me walk out of here before I am fully recovered.”

Gimli smiled and left the room.

~~

Gimli met his friends early in the evening, as they headed for the great halls for the king’s banquet. It was not a day usually celebrated, and Thorin had sent out rather cryptic notifications. Gimli saw his friends slightly ahead, and hastened his pace to catch up with them.

“So, how was he?” Torvin asked as soon as he saw Gimli.

Gimli had had a good night’s sleep and a slow day, helping his father in finishing a project. He had carefully knocked on his uncle’s door before leaving home, but Óin had been deeply asleep, and Gimli had now seen him for the remainder of the day.

“I only spoke with him last night. He is funny and amiable.”

“Did he tell you lots of spy stories?” Orvin asked.

“Orvin!” Kidzum and Torvin reprimanded simultaneously.

“What?” Orvin shrugged and went on walking ahead, toward the great hall, for the banquet. Around them, many dwarves draped in their fineries made the same way. One could hear from afar musicians tuning their instruments, and closer, all sorts of gossip, chortles, and general bustling.

Gimli laughed. “No, he didn’t tell me spy stories, you oaf.”

They entered the dining hall and saw the long, long tables set in all finery, but with the true simplicity of a noble dwarven house – no linen tablecloth, only the fine wood, worked and polished until the table top shimmered under the candle light. Fine silver dishes, carefully engraved, hundreds, each with its own scene, and golden cutlery. And the best horn for cups, delicately carved. On the floor, pine needles released a scent of forest and rain. On the walls, no tapestries, save for a very large one behind Thorin’s seat, which had been a gift from the Elves many generations ago, in a land now lost to the sea. Despite being Elven, Gimli had to admit it showed perfect craftsmanship and that was something he could respect. And on the two side walls, two roaring fires burned, providing heat and light to the room.

Despite being many and rowdy, Thorin’s people quickly found their seats and waited for the king to enter the hall, while animatedly chatting. When Thorin did so, regal in his posture and in his garb, all rose to their feet and waited for him to take his seat. Gimli’s father sat to his left and Óin to his right. Gimli was seated several places down the table, with his friends, observing.

Thorin stood for a moment, looking around, his gaze piercing deep into Gimli’s eyes, then his friends, then their neighbours. Thorin Oakenshield could speak worlds with his eyes, and a respectful silence fell upon the room.

After a long moment, Thorin spoke.

“Friends, brothers in exile.” All eyes were fixed on him, and not even the two small children of the realm cried. “You might be wondering what it is we are celebrating today. By my right side I have, at long last, Óin, my kin, who has travelled the world for many years, stepping away from the forge where a good dwarf is most happy, to sleep in the wilderness as a hapless Elf. Well, tonight we honour Óin and we celebrate the news he brought us from all corners of the land.” Thorin raised his cup and all followed his gesture,with a long cheer.

When the voices subsided, Thorin continued. “Some things are better left in secret, and I will not say much tonight, but I trust each and every one in this room with my life. Soon I will be travelling. For a long time I have aspired for one thing and one thing only, the return to Erebor. And yet there are so few of us left these days, enough to fill this hall, enough to build these poor lodgings in exile and make a home of sorts under the mountain, but most certainly not enough to fight the filthy worm who hoards our riches and conspurcates our home. So, to war we will not go, but we will take our land back, through cunning!”

A silence filled the room after Thorin’s exclamation. Thorin drank alone, then Glóin and Óin followed him and all three set their empty cups on the table with a bang.

“To Erebor!” Glóin exclaimed.

“To Erebor,” many voices rose in reply throughout the hall.

“To Erebor!” more voices joined.

Thorin sat down and the meat was brought to the table.

As they ate the venison of Gimli’s catch and other fine meats and good bread, Gimli’s friends pestered him with questions, but he had no answers, only the sinking feeling that his father still saw him as a child, not someone who could know the secrets of the realm. And whatever Thorin’s expedition entailed, Gimli wanted to be part of it – it was his fate to travel the world and do glorious deeds, he knew this in his heart.

When the banquet was over, he returned home, but his parents were not in.

“They went out, to see the stars,” Óin said, from the bedroom. Gimli walked over and stood by the door, watching Óin as he rose on one elbow on the bed.

“They need to talk and I’m here, taking up their room and their privacy.”

Gimli nodded. “Why are you in the dark?”

“My arm is coming along nicely, but I’m still fairly clumsy to light a fire.”

Gimli laughed. “You should see me.”

Óin raised an eyebrow. “You’re not good with fire, laddie?”

Gimli shook his head. “Not really, no.”

“Well that’s a shame! I’m not sure if I believe you, though,” Óin stated boldly, with a wink. “You’re my nephew, after all and everyone knows that Gróin’s sons are the best firemakers of all dwarven kin. Also, let me just remark that that being said, I am better than your illustrious father, my dear brother.”

“You’re very modest, my uncle,” Gimli quipped.

Óin laughed. “That I am not.” When the laughter subsided, Óin beckoned Gimli to come into the room and moved towards the fireplace.

“Now, let’s see lad,” he called.

Gimli walked over, collected three logs from the box on the side of the fireplace, and carefully arranged them on the fireplace. Then he stuck a few twigs underneath and reached for the flintstone. The kindling lit up almost instantaneously, warming the room with a reddish light. Gimli immediately started blowing into the lower part of the fire and moving the kindling. The fire burned nicely, but after a few moments, it started faltering.

Gimli stepped back dejectedly. “See. I must be the only adult dwarf who cannot light a decent fire.”

“Now, now, lad, don’t give up. Just keep gently fanning it. Don’t move the twigs.”

Gimli obeyed his uncle and slowly the fire started to build up until it burned warmly and steadily.

“See?” Óin asked proudly, as he stood. “That wasn’t half bad. But I think you’re so anxious to air the fire that you move things around too much. You must give it the air it needs, but too much movement stops the wood from reaching a high enough temperature to keep the burning going.”

Gimli stood by his uncle’s side, beaming proudly at the fire. “Thank you, uncle! I think I see what you mean.”

Óin reached for the small bottle of wine on the side table and poured two glasses, handing one to Gimli with his good hand and then reaching for the other, for himself.

“Come sit down, laddie. I guess you must be tired from all the dancing with that pretty young maid, but surely you can spare a moment for your old uncle.”

Gimli felt his cheeks burning under his beard. “Kidzum? She’s a childhood friend.”

“Is that so?” Óin asked, with a hint of malice. “But one you highly cherish, for sure.”

Gimli lowered his head. “Quite unrequitedly...”

Óin shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe you need to give it a little time. She did seem to like you the best of all the other boys.”

Gimli’s eyes shot up. “I am not a boy.”

“Indulge an old grumpy uncle,” Óin said with a wink. “I do regret staying away for so long.”

“Why did you?” Gimli asked.

Óin looked into the fire. “We lost Erebor… I lost my love to another man… And the king needed my eyes and my ears elsewhere… All these things together...”

Gimli raised an eyebrow. With a sudden insight, he asked, “Was she my mother?”

Óin smiled. “You’re very quick, my lad. Yes, it was her, but she only ever loved your father.”

Gimli sipped his wine, trying to imagine a time when his parents and his uncle were young and foolish.

“For a while, it hurt to see her looking lovingly at your father, but that is all behind now. I love my brother and I greatly admire her and value her friendship. And they made you, my nephew, whom I like so much even though we have barely met.” Óin smiled.

Gimli smiled too. “I feel the same,” he said. “It’s funny, but I feel like I’ve known you all of my life. And you’re just like in my father’s stories.”

Óin’s eyes glistened for a second. “He told you stories about me?”

“Yes, when I was growing up, stories from your childhood and, when a letter came he would always read it aloud for us, in the evenings.”

“That’s nice. Dear Glóin.” Óin remained pensieve for a moment.

“Listen,” he said abruptly after a while. “When, if we get back, I expect you to have already proposed to that young lady. I want grandnephews and grandnieces!”

Gimli laughed and shook his head. “You’re persistent, but there is one small problem – I won’t be staying put while you go out to rescue our lost kingdom and treasure. I will be the first to sign up for the expedition party.”

“No, laddie!” Óin said, horrified. “You’re too young and yet unseasoned as a warrior. And besides, Tharkûn has already made his plan and Thorin has already decided who will go.”

“Who are they?” Gimli asked. “Who are the chosen?”

Óin shook his head. “It is a secret, but, since we will soon be leaving, there is no point in holding it from you. But for now, this rests with you only. Do I have your word?”

“Yes, you have my word,” Gimli solemnly replied.

Óin sighed. “Well, there’s Tharkûn - you know him, for sure.”

“Yes,” Gimli replied with some surprise. “The tall grey magician who used to come by when we were smaller. I don’t see why he should be called for this mysterious mission of yours, though.”

“It was his plan, to start with, and besides, Tharkûn is not just some magician who does nice tricks to entertain children. He knows all the peoples of this land, he walks through all the lands, and he knows more power than we can begin to imagine.”

Gimli raised an eyebrow in suspicion, but let the matter go. “Who are the others?” he insisted.

“Well, from Moria we have Bifur, Bofur and Bombur. Very skilled, and connected to us by ancestral blood. From here, from our Blue Mountains, we have yours truly and your father, the brothers Dwalin and Balin, great warriors, as you know, then we have Ori, Dori and Nori, also skilled in many arts, and also very decent with their axes, and at last, the king and his nephews, Fili and Kili.”

Gimli jumped from his seat. “Uncle! Fili is only 20 years older than I am and Kili is even younger!”

Óin put a hand to his forehead. “They are the king’s nephews and, despite their young age, they still are older than you, and have had more time out with an axe in their hands, if you know what I mean.”

Gimli paced restless. “And that is it? Let’s see, a party of a wizard of sorts and thirteen dwarves are going to regain Erebor for us?”

“You heard what the king said, lad,” Óin said, his voice calm and firm. “There is a plan, we are not going to war against a dragon, we are resorting to cunning. And more than that, I shall not say.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Gimli pensively.

Gimli felt tempted to storm out of the room, but instead he sat down. “I see the matter is settled and I will not beg like a child, but I ask you uncle, in my place, would you not go to the king and ask for a place in this group. It is not so large that another one could not be fitted in, for sure.”

Óin rested for a moment. “In your place, with your age and fire, I would be pestering, begging, threatening, making everyone’s life miserable to get what I wanted, but you seem to be far more dignified and mature than I was.”

Gimli shook his head. “That sounds like a compliment. I’m not bribed with those, you know,” he said, half jokingly, half seriously.

Óin grew somber. “Listen, lad. You want to change the world and that is good. But there are many roads, many ways. For now, what is needed of you is to ensure there’s blood from the royal line left safely behind, in case we never make it back. And your mother, think of her, of what she would feel losing a husband and a child in the same day, should this plan go awry, and there is every chance it will. You must stay.”

Gimli shook his head unconvinced.

“There will be other days for you to fight. For now, your job is to care for those left behind. Thorin has prepared a secret will, but as far as official arrangements go, our people and their fate will be left in the hands of a few chosen. Despite your age, you will be in this council, as you have helped your father in his duties as the king’s treasurer.”

Gimli sighed deeply. “Uncle...”

Óin shook his head. “It is the way it must be lad. But I will do everything in my power to bring you your father safe and sound and one day, the three of us will go out on a grand adventure. Trust my words.”

Gimli felt as if he were a child, being promised a toy. But he also understood that everything was set and that no amount of persuasion would be effective. His mother often said, with pride, that he knew how to choose his battles. It was hard to choose not to take this one, but reason made him see that a tantrum would only speak against him.

“Very well, uncle,” he said at last. “I will not insist. But one day...”

“One day, my lad, and I need not have Tharkûn’s powers to see this, one day you will be great and known among the finest warriors of this Arda.”

“I hope you are right, uncle,” Gimli said. “I hope you are right.”

Óin yawned and stretched. “I feel tired and you must be too.”

Gimli rose. “Of course. I’ll leave you to your rest, uncle.”

As Gimli approached the door, Óin called out. “Gimli!”

“Yes, uncle?”

“I hope this conversation does not abort the friendship that I was hoping to build with you.”

Gimli gazed at his uncle for a moment. “No, uncle, it will not. Thank you for the tip on the fire.”

“It is I who have to thank you for giving me the chance to be an uncle and pass on something of our family.”

Gimli nodded. “Tomorrow I’ll show you the elm I’m working on, at the forge.”

Óin nodded. “Thank you. You’re fine lad, with the best of hearts.”

Gimli softly closed the door and walked to his room. Despite his answers to his uncle, he still was unsettled and unhappy at the prospect of not participating in the first good chance of doing any thing that amounted to something. Something told him he would not sleep this night. But despite the conversation with Óin, or because of it, he felt oddly hopeful. And he did believe his uncle’s words – there are many roads, many ways to rise to one’s fate.

Finis  
August, 2019


End file.
